Trick and Fire
by The Rabid Toenail
Summary: The world is tired of a prudish America and his inability to play well with others, and it falls to England to teach his former colony how to spread his legs...  oneshot, UKxUS .


**Trick and Fire**

Summary: Alfred learns to open his legs… with some help from Arthur.

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya... not meeee.

"_Gods_, Alfred, you're such an insufferable prat," Arthur grumbled, leaning heavily on Alfred's desk.

After some none-too gentle prodding (and a few gropes,) Francis had finally convinced the man to do what he'd forgotten (or neglected?) to take care of when Alfred had been his colony, for everyone's sakes. Alfred had, after all, just thrown away a perfectly good relationship with Kiku, over a little thing like _tentacles_ and maybe some, uhh, artistic rope-tying (Kiku was, admittedly, a little weird in bed, something you wouldn't suspect with his mild-mannered out-of-bedroom personality,) and Arthur had known for a while that his sex talk with Alfred was long overdue.

He'd planned to get around to it, but then he'd had to spend a hundred years or so tangled up in wars with Francis, and by then Alfred had been nearly grown, and he'd figured the boy had discovered sex for himself, probably with his Native counterpart or with Canada or maybe even Mexico. Alfred's actions during the revolution had certainly proved _that_—allying with Francis of all people! It still peeved him to think about it—so he'd assumed that Alfred had spent most of his time off the battlefield looking thoroughly debauched, which didn't really bear thinking about… Ugh, and Alfred had gotten help from Ludwig too, so why the hell was he so averse to sex? Ludwig was just as kinky as Kiku…

"Whaaa?" Alfred asked, his eyes wide with surprise as Arthur glowered down at him. He looked like he'd been in the middle of some rather complicated diagrams— spaceships or something, Arthur didn't know or care—and he seemed utterly confused, his glasses threatening to slide down his nose as he stared up at Arthur with a flabbergasted expression. "Ugh, what do _you_ want, Arthur? Can't you see I'm doing _important_ things?"

Grumbling, Arthur hissed, "Believe me, I'd rather anywhere else! It's not like I _enjoy_ hanging around with an idiot like you. But I'm afraid I neglected a few things when you were under my care, and it's time I took care of them."

"You mean you wanna finally pay me for supporting you in the French and Indian War? Thank god, I've been waiting for those for forever… stupid William Pitt. You'll adjust the sum for inflation, I trust?"

Arthur's grin was positively evil. "I'm afraid not, unless you're willing to pay all those taxes you still owe me…" Alfred promptly clamped his mouth shut at that, shooting Arthur a pouty glare. "I thought so. No, I'm here because apparently after four hundred years, you still don't know how to have a proper relationship, and according to Francis, it's all my fault."

"Uhh…" Alfred blinked at him.

"What's your problem, America? You've had sex with loads of blokes before, so what's the problem with Kiku? He's quite a sensible fellow, even if he's a bit… odd behind closed doors. I know he's into some queer things, but it's nothing worse than what Ludwig does, I'm sure."

"What?" Alfred asked again, his cheeks blazing bright red. "B-but I—I _haven't_! I've _never_ done… that, and I like Kiku, but he really wants me to sleep with him and—and—," he stammered, staring at his shoes with embarrassment. "D-does everyone really think that? That I'm some kind of cheap slut? I'm not like that…" He looked horribly unsure of himself as he glanced up at Arthur, meeting big blue eyes that made Arthur's heart thump a bit harder in his chest.

"You didn't? Not even with _Francis_?" Arthur hissed, his throat going dry at the thought. He'd felt so betrayed because he'd thought Alfred had left his arms to whore himself out to Francis, after he'd spilled so much blood and spent so much treasure protecting him from the man.

"He didn't make me do anything with him… he just told me to pretend I had, when you were around," Alfred murmured with a blush. "I didn't think you cared that much, so I went along with it."

"So it was a charade?" he huffed, his shoulders slumping. He'd spent so long being angry and feeling betrayed that it was hard to accept that Alfred _hadn't_ spread his legs for all of Europe. "But Francis doesn't make alliances without getting a little arse out of the deal."

"Yeah, but so long as he got to rub it in your face, he got what he wanted anyway. He didn't push me too much because… well, I was still…" Alfred's voice went quiet after that, quieter than Arthur had ever heard it, but he still managed to pick up the words, "_in love with you_."

"You were?" Arthur shot back almost immediately, unwilling to let Alfred skate over the words the way he surely wanted to. Neither of them had ever been good with feelings, but that was probably why they were in this mess right now, with two hundred years of unacknowledged emotion between them.

Alfred barely nodded, as if afraid to confirm it. He'd never been so forthcoming about these feelings before, and Arthur felt a stab of regret that he hadn't seen it three hundred years ago. There had been a time when he'd been hopelessly in love with the younger man, but he'd held back out of fear and guilt and doubt. He'd never thought Alfred could love him—he was so bright and lively and strong, and Arthur was old and tired. "And now…?"

Alfred refused to answer, and Arthur didn't blame him. There was too much water under that bridge, too many bruises and scars that neither of them could forget to really answer that. No matter how he answered, the truth would hurt both of them. Putting his business face back on, Arthur swallowed his nervousness and spoke, "Ahem. Regardless, that doesn't solve the problem at hand." He wanted Alfred more now than he had in over a century, wanted him the way he had during the revolution, the kind of dry-mouthed, heart-pumping craving that turned his hands clammy and made his trousers feel uncomfortably tight. "I apologize for my oversight. I'll correct it now—I owe you that much, as your mother country."

"You're not my—" Alfred began to protest, but the softness of Arthur's lips on his own shocked him enough to halt his tongue, and Arthur still remembered his imperial past well enough to take advantage of that weakness and slide inside, his tongue moving against Alfred's stilled one. The man's grunt of surprise made him grin, but those hands that settled on his chest to push him away decided to enclose him instead after a few moments' coaxing, and Arthur was only too happy to be pulled closer, clambering into Alfred's lap with a grace only he could muster. Once Alfred got started, responding with the artless fervor of the inexperienced but enthusiastic, it was hard to untangle himself, but after a moment he was able to wrench himself away, panting a little.

He thought of chiding Alfred for forgetting that he needed to breathe, but he knew that words would break the spell. If he allowed Alfred to think about what he was doing, everything would be over, and a big—_and_ _ever-growing_—part of him couldn't bear the thought of that. So he dove back in, sliding a hand under Alfred's shirt to touch his back, delighting in the gasp he was able to elicit just from the delicate explorations of his fingertips. "_Arthur_," Alfred hissed with a shiver, the muscles of his back shifting under his hands, hot and heavy like tectonic plates.

"Shh," Arthur shushed, pressing against him the way he'd always wanted to. Alfred was muscular, but not overly so, every inch of him tight and hot and economical; Arthur knew that Alfred was stronger than him now, and that those arms could push him away as if he were a child if they really wanted to, but all they seemed interested in was pulling him closer, scrabbling at his back with shocking strength so that he could do nothing but press himself against Alfred, a wonderful kind of too-close-ness that made electric fire burn under his skin.

Alfred didn't seem to have much idea of what he was doing, running on instinct as he clung tight to Arthur and tried to press himself ever closer, diving into the kiss with zeal. Alfred had obviously done this part before because his moves were confident, if inelegant, but his whole body went rigid as Arthur finally palmed the swell at the front of Alfred's jeans, a half-surprised sigh of a moan escaping between their panting mouths. "Th-that's," Alfred started, his shoulders tensing as Arthur's touch became more absolute, concrete rather than merely theoretical, his fingers taking on a real weight as they rubbed across him.

"Shh, don't think. Does it feel good?" Arthur asked, his voice breathy and barely above a whisper.

Alfred didn't answer with words, but the moan he tried to muffle with a hand was proof enough of how it felt, and Arthur was pleased at how it seemed to grow under his touch. "Better than Kiku," he finally murmured, half-jokingly, his cheeks flushed as he finally moved his hips to shift more into Arthur's touch. "I can't do… all that weird stuff."

Arthur gave a pleased chuckle at the thought; of _course_ he knew best how to please Alfred. The man had been his colony for centuries, after all. "Good," he huffed, and unbuttoned Alfred's pants with a grin.

And in the end, Alfred came before Arthur even managed to get his pants off, shuddering into Arthur's hand as his eyes squeezed shut and his head nodded backward, but Arthur didn't mind. "Amateur," Arthur grunted as Alfred slumped against him, too twitchy and satisfied to protest, and the Englishman decided that the tightness in his pants could wait a little while longer, at least until Alfred had recovered enough to argue with him again. He threaded his fingers through Alfred's hair, letting him catch his breath, staring down into those fever-bright blue eyes and waiting for the moment when Alfred yanked him down and stoked the fire in his veins all over again.

AN: Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought!

Curious about the title? It's really stupid, but I've spent months trying to find a title for this, even though it's been finished forever DX. Urbandictionary tells me that "trick and fire" is Amish slang for back and forth... in reference to copulation XD. I thought it went with the fire imagery... and I really needed a title -;;.


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